


An Empty Bed

by RoseThornhill



Category: The X-Files
Genre: Bipolar Disorder, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Mental Health Issues, but then hurt again
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-06
Updated: 2018-04-06
Packaged: 2019-04-19 04:46:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,998
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14229588
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RoseThornhill/pseuds/RoseThornhill
Summary: Scully works to help Mulder through some mental health issues. Despite her best attempts, it leads to their breakup. Set between IWTB and S10





	An Empty Bed

**Author's Note:**

> Set some time before Season 10, this is my idea of what broke up our favorite couple. This is the longest fic I have written (so far) so hopefully it is not too tedious. All comments - good and (constructively) bad are welcome!

She woke to an empty bed. It was the middle of the night, and Scully could hear the television on downstairs. She pulled on her robe and went downstairs, where she found Mulder watching _The Twilight Zone_. "I'm sorry; did I wake you?" he asked, instinctively turning the volume down.

 

"No, it's fine," Scully answered around a yawn. "I was just worried when I woke up and saw you weren't in bed. Is everything okay?"

 

"Yeah, I just couldn't sleep. Luckily there is a _Twilight Zone_ marathon on."

 

Scully curled up beside him on the couch. In his arms, she was asleep again in minutes.

 

***

 

She woke to an empty bed. It was the middle of the night and the television was on downstairs. Tonight Mulder was watching _The Six Million Dollar Man_. Better than _The Incredible Hulk_ last night. Or _Manimal_ the night before. Not as good as _Friday the 13th: The Series_ , which he was watching earlier this week. Or last week. The days were starting to blur together without a good night's sleep. Mulder didn't seem to have a problem with it, and for that she was envious. She tossed and turned for a few minutes, then gave up and went to "watch" TV with Mulder. It was the only way she could get back to sleep.

 

***

 

She woke up to an empty bed. Television on downstairs. She went to investigate. Tonight, Mulder was playing air guitar with a Guns n' Roses video playing on the TV. "Hey Scully! Did you know that MTV still plays music videos at 3am?"

 

She smiled and watched him for a minute. "You've got some nice moves, Mulder," she said before shuffling back to bed.

 

***

 

She woke up to an empty bed. She was used to this, though she had lost count of how many times she had woken up alone. She was surprised that she didn't hear the television on, and flat-out worried when she heard a metallic crash.

 

Gun in hand, she crept down the stairs. She relaxed when she saw it was just Mulder, mucking about in the kitchen. "Sorry, I was hoping you would sleep through that," he said as he picked up the fallen pots and pans. "Want a grilled cheese?" She couldn't help but laugh and nod. He was disheveled and adorable, and she was hungry. They enjoyed their post-midnight snack, giggling like children and talking about favorite cartoons of their youth. When they were done, she lured him back upstairs and they fell asleep in each other's arms.

 

***

 

She woke up to an empty bed. Rather than television playing downstairs, she heard Mulder pecking away at the computer, occasionally grumbling under his breath. She tried to go back to sleep, but curiosity got the better of her, and she went downstairs.

 

She found him working on his novel, something he had talked about doing for years. Rather than "the great American novel," he was working on some pulpy sci-fi creation loosely based on some of their old cases. She would expect nothing else from him. Scully was just glad he was doing something productive and went back to sleep.

 

***

 

She woke up to an empty bed. Tonight, in addition to the typing, she heard his foot tapping impatiently. The motion made the rickety bones of the old house shudder. She did not check on him; his foot tapping rocked her back to sleep.

 

***

 

She woke up to an empty bed. The typing downstairs was replaced with pacing and muttering.

 

Mulder wasn't working on his novel tonight. She wasn't really sure what he was working on, but his mind seemed to be working. Working overtime. He didn't notice her watching from the staircase, until she interrupted his train of thought. "Need any help?"

 

He was surprised to see her there, and shook his head. "No. No, I just gotta work some ideas out."

 

"Well, maybe you can work them out upstairs," she suggested coquettishly. Mulder froze, looked up at her, and practically leapt up the stairs. They were in bed for only a few minutes - she didn't even have a chance to undress - when Mulder stopped kissing her. "I've got it!" he declared and ran back downstairs.

 

Scully was totally speechless. This had _never_ happened to her before. She threw herself back on the pillows and sighed in frustration.

 

***

 

She woke up to an empty bed. When she went downstairs to check on Mulder, she was more than a little concerned to see that he had a conspiracy board up on the wall - complete with yarn connecting pieces of a puzzle that only Mulder could see.

 

"Mulder," she said gently. It was a soft touch on his shoulder that brought him back to her.

 

"Sorry, did I wake you?"

 

"Mulder, are you okay?"

 

"Yeah, I'm fine. I just got on to a lead--"

 

"Mulder. Stop." She used her most gentle but authoritative voice to get him to focus. When she finally caught his attention, she saw what she feared most: a manic twitch in his eye. He couldn't wait to get back to his conspiracy board. She led him to the couch, where he quickly got the wrong idea. It killed her to do it, but she pulled away from his kisses. If he truly is manic, heightened sexual desire is one of the symptoms, and she didn't want to encourage him.

 

"Mulder. You are manic." He bounced his knees impatiently, but said nothing. "I'm worried about you." He leaned in again to kiss her neck, something she normally found irresistible. She pulled away, again, and he sits back with a sigh.

 

"I'm sorry Scully. I just... I guess I just need to blow off some steam. I have been working on this theory, but I'm kind of stuck." The words tumbled out fast, faster by the minute. "See, I think I have found a link between aliens, Sarah Palin, and the financial crisis. I just need to figure out how the birther movement fits in with 9/11--" She took his face into her hands and silenced him.

 

A shadow fell across Mulder's face; his boyish exuberance sagged as he realized he had gone off the rails. "Scully... oh shit, Scully... I'm so sorry."

 

"It's okay, it's okay," she soothed, hoping to calm him down. It doesn't work, and he sobs onto her shoulder. She rocked him for a while, before finally getting him back to bed. His mania had finally exhausted him, and she had a few, fitful hours of sleep. She was worried about him.

 

***

 

She woke to an empty bed. Would it be too much to ask to go downstairs and find Mulder making breakfast? It was. He had cocooned himself in a blanket on the couch, watching cartoons. His eyes were bloodshot and he seemed to stare right through the TV set.

 

Scully sat beside him; he scarcely noticed. "Mulder, I have a surgery this morning. Are you going to be okay?"

 

"I'm fine."

 

"Because I can have Reyes come over and--"

 

"I'm _fine_ ," he said, his tone more gruff than intended.

 

She sighed. "I have to go, but we will talk about this tonight, okay?" He nodded, and she kissed him on the forehead. The tender moment he gave her so frequently didn't have the same effect on him. He didn't even register the contact.

 

When Scully returned to the unremarkable house later that evening, she was dismayed to find Mulder in virtually the same position on the couch. There was no evidence that he had eaten today, and he certainly hadn't changed his clothes or shaved. She sat beside him and pulled her thoughts together. He didn't look at her.

 

"Mulder, I want you to see a psychiatrist," she said slowly. This finally got him to look at her.

 

"Why?"

 

"You have been... spiraling as of late. I think you need some help."

 

"Can't you just prescribe me some Prozac or something?" His eyes were back to the cartoons.

 

"No. This is... I do not have the right type of training to help you with this. This is beyond me." She paused, nervous about what she wanted to say next. "I think you might be manic-depressive." This elicited no response from Mulder, so she continued. "You have had depression before. You have had minor manic episodes before. But in the last month or so... things have gotten much, much worse."

 

He nodded absentmindedly. She told him about an appointment she made for the next day, promised to take him, promised to help him in whatever way he needs. She's not sure how much he heard, or if any of it sunk in. "I'm going to bed. Do you want to join me?"

 

"I'll be up in a minute," he murmured. She knew this meant he wouldn't be up.

 

***

 

She woke to an empty bed. It wasn't yet midnight; she fell asleep reading. She peeked downstairs at Mulder. He was still on the couch, but at least he was asleep. She straightened the blanket over him, brushed his hair off his face, and kissed him tenderly on the forehead. She was sad as she went back upstairs. She missed sleeping beside him.

 

Scully delivered Mulder to his psychiatrist appointment, then went to check on a couple patients. She specifically chose someone who worked at her hospital, but someone she didn't really know. She made sure to return before Mulder's appointment was over, and Dr. Robbins invited her into the office.

 

"Fox told me that it was okay to share his diagnosis with you," Dr. Robbins said when she sat down next to Mulder. Mulder was balled up in the corner of the couch, eyes down, tapping his fingers together in a specific pattern that only he understood.

 

"Based on what you have told me, Dr. Scully, and what I have seen today, I think Fox may have bipolar I disorder," Dr. Robbins explained. "Bipolar disorder is characterized by manic episodes - extreme energy, questionable judgement, rage, heightened sex drive - and depressive episodes - sadness, loss of interest, both insomnia and the desire to sleep. This is a serious condition that can have dire consequences if not addressed. I would like to start Fox on a course of medication. We are going to start slow, with some mood stabilizers. Hopefully we can find a good combination that will stabilize him."

 

Scully looked to Mulder. "Is that okay with you, Mulder?" He nodded vacantly. Scully collected his prescription and set a follow-up appointment. She had to physically lead him out of the office.

 

At home, Scully made Mulder some toast and gave him his meds. He barely said a word, but he did thank her for taking care of him. She saw tears in his eyes.

 

She put him to bed - or rather, to couch. He wanted to watch TV. She sat with him until he fell asleep.

 

The next few weeks were tough as the doctor worked towards finding a drug cocktail that worked for Mulder. Some of them worsened his depression; others seemed to amplify his mania. Some just knocked him out. Scully stood by him, and he was grateful for that, even if he couldn't express it. Luckily, their relationship had long relied on wordless communication. Whenever Scully was starting to get frustrated, Mulder would squeeze her hand, and she knew. She knew.

 

***

 

She woke to an empty bed. She was frustrated; she thought Mulder had been improving. She sighed and went downstairs. The TV wasn't on, and Mulder wasn't on the couch. He was in the kitchen, putting the finishing touches on breakfast. French toast.

 

"Good morning." He greeted her with a smile and a kiss on the lips.

 

"You look like you are in a good mood."

 

"I am! I think we finally have a cocktail that is working for me," Mulder said brightly as he sets down her breakfast. "I'm off the couch, I'm no longer watching children's cartoons, and I don't think I am manic."

 

"No, you are not." She smiled at him, a genuine smile, which felt hard to come by recently.

 

"Oh! Your juice!" Mulder jumps up from the table before she can stop him.

 

"No, Mulder, it's right here," she said, pointing to the glass sitting right in front of her.

 

"Well then, I guess we can eat. Cheers." They clinked glasses and enjoyed a pleasant breakfast together, complete with conversation, eye contact, giggles, and jokes. Scully was finally able to relax. Her Mulder was back.

 

Things went well for the next few weeks. Mulder was on a normal schedule, helping with the household chores. He started work on the novel he had always wanted to write. He was even going to bed with Scully - and she didn't wake to an empty bed. Their sex life had taken a bit of a hit, but that was a standard side effect of his medication. He was present in their relationship and that was the most important thing to her.

 

Besides their lessened sex, there was one other side effect that troubled her: Mulder was becoming forgetful. It started with small things first, like losing his car keys or forgetting to run errands. But then he forgot her name a couple times, and he would wander into a room and stop, with no idea why he was there. Dr. Robbins assured her this was common, and should normalize after a month or so.

 

***

 

She woke to an empty bed and was immediately worried.

 

Downstairs, she found him back at his conspiracy board. "Mulder..."

 

"No, Scully, I'm _so close_ ," he insisted. He started rambling about whatever conspiracy he was _so close_ to solving, and she knew he was manic.

 

"Mulder. Have you been taking your pills?"

 

"Um, yeah. Of course."

 

"Really?"

 

"Well... I may have missed one... or two.... They make me forgetful. Which is not what should happen with pills!"

 

"This is why I set up the reminder alarm on your phone."

 

"Oh come on, Scully, you know I don't know how to use that thing."

 

"You don't have to do anything." She sighed and tried to give him the benefit of the doubt. "Here, take it now." She handed him his pills and a glass of water and watched him wash it down. "I'm going to bed. Any chance you want to join me?"

 

He didn't say a word as he examined his conspiracy board. She went to bed alone.

 

When she came back downstairs for breakfast a few hours later, it was painfully obvious that Mulder had not slept. His pills should have knocked him out, especially if he hadn't taken them for a few days. She waited until he went into the other room to retrieve a book before scanning the desk.

 

There, nestled amongst the discarded sunflower shells, were the three pills he should have taken last night. He had cheeked them, and spit them out as soon as she left the room.

 

"What the hell, Mulder?" she demanded when he returned.

 

"What?"

 

"You _didn't_ take your pills."

 

He shrugged. "I don't like them."

 

"You don't _like_ them?"

 

"They make me forgetful. They slow me down. I can't work."

 

She took a deep breath and tried to calm down. More than anything, she was mad that he had lied to her. Mulder had _never_ lied to her. He was manic again, and yelling at him wouldn't help.

 

"Mulder, you shouldn't be working right now. You need to take care of yourself. Get better."

 

"Scully, I'm fine!" His tone was sharper than she was used to.

 

"Mulder, I don't want to force-feed you your pills... but I will if I have to."

 

He stopped what he was doing and turned to her, giving her his full attention. "I'm not a child!"

 

"Really? Because you are certainly acting childish right now!"

 

Mulder was fuming. He grabbed a stapler off his desk and threw it at her. She dodged it easily, but that was the last straw. Without a word, she went upstairs and began packing.

 

He followed after her, realizing what a huge mistake he had made. "Scully, I'm so sorry, I didn't mean that. You are right, I need help. I'll take the pills, I'll take whatever pills you want me to take. I'll be a zombie. Don't leave. Please!"

 

If she spoke, she knew all that would come out would be sobs. If she stopped packing, she would lose her nerve. She knew he was in a precarious place mentally, but putting her in harm's way was too much. The one person she trusted not to hurt her had just tried to hurt her. She ignored his pleas and packed, silent tears streaming down her face.

 

When she was done, she took a deep breath and turned to look at Mulder, who was curled into a ball and crying softly. "Mulder, I love you. I will always love you. But I cannot be in this situation. You clearly need more help than I can give you." Her instinct was to go to him and give him a kiss on the forehead, but she knew that would lead to kisses on the lips and kisses elsewhere. Without another word, she left the little house in the middle of nowhere. _Their_ little house in the middle of nowhere.

 

His little house in the middle of nowhere.

 

***

 

He didn't know how long he had been on the floor, crying. He didn't know how long Scully had been gone. He knew he was so dehydrated there were no more tears, and he ached from sitting on the floor. He drank down a big cup of water in the bathroom and rummaged around in the medicine cabinet. His pills were still downstairs and he was too exhausted to go looking for them. Bettering himself would have to wait.

 

He stumbled to their bed. Her pillow smelled of her shampoo. He cried at the sweet, familiar scent.

 

He went to sleep in an empty bed.


End file.
